The Complete Works of Stephen Crane (51 page)

“Ho! ho!” he observed frigidly, “’tis indeed the king of the Irelands, accompanied by the red-headed duke who has entertained me for some time, and a third party with a thief’s face who handles a loaded pistol with such abandon as leads me to suppose that he once may have been a highwayman. A very pretty band.”

“Use your tongue for a garter, Forister,” said I. “I want my papers.”

“Your ‘papers’?” said Forister. “Damn you and your papers. What would I know of your papers?”

“I mean,” said I fiercely, “the papers that you stole out of my chamber in the inn at Bristol.”

The man actually sank back in his chair and laughed me up to the roof.

“‘Papers’!” he shouted. “Here’s the king of the Irelands thinking that I have made off with his papers!”

“You choose a good time for laughing,” said I, with more sobriety. “In a short time you will be laughing with the back of your head.”

He sat up and looked at me with quick decision.

“Now, what is all this rubbish about papers?” he said sharply. “What have I to do with your filthy papers? I had one intention regarding you, — of that I am certain. I was resolved to kill you on the first occasion when we could cross swords, but—’papers’ — faugh! What do you mean?”

The hoarse voice of Jem Bottles broke in from somewhere behind me. “We might easily throw him to the earth and tie him, sir, and then make search of him.”

“And you would know how to go about the business, I warrant me,” laughed Forister. “You muzzle-faced rogue, you!”

To my astonishment the redoubtable highwayman gave back before the easy disdain of this superior scoundrel.

“My ways may not always have been straight and narrow, master,” he rejoined, almost in a whine, “but you have no call to name me muzzle-faced.”

Forister turned from him contemptuously and fixed his regard with much enthusiasm upon Paddy.

“Very red,” said he. “Very red, indeed. And thick as fagots, too. A very delectable head of hair, fit to be spun into a thousand blankets for the naked savages in heathen parts. The wild forests in Ireland must indeed be dark when it requires a lantern of this measure to light the lonely traveller on his way.”

But Paddy was an honest man even if he did not know it, and he at once walked to Forister and held against his ear a fist the size of a pig’s hind-leg.

“I cannot throw the talk back to you,” he said. “You are too fast for me, but I tell you to your face that you had better change your tongue for a lock of an old witch’s hair unless you intend to be battered this moment.”

“Peace,” said Forister calmly. “I am a man of natural wit, and I would entertain myself. Now, there is your excellent chieftain the king of the Irelands. Him I regard as a very good specimen, whose ancestors were not very long ago swinging by their tails from the lofty palms of Ireland and playing with cocoanuts to and fro.” He smiled and leaned back, well satisfied with himself.

All this time I had been silent, because I had been deep in reflection upon Forister. Now I said:

“Forister, you are a great rogue. I know you. One thing is certain. You have not my papers and never did you have them.”

He looked upon me with some admiration and cried:

“Aye, the cannibal shows a glimmer of reason. No, I have not your foolish papers, and I only wish I had them in order to hurl the bundle at your damned stupid head.”

“For a kicked man you have a gay spirit,” I replied. “But at any rate I have no time for you now. I am off to Bristol after my papers, and I only wish for the sake of ease that I had to go no farther than this chamber. Come, Paddy! Come, Jem!”

My two henchmen were manifestly disappointed; they turned reluctantly at my word.

“Have I the leave of one crack at him, your honour?” whispered Paddy earnestly. “He said my head was a lantern.”

“No,” said I, “leave him to his meditations.”

As we passed down the corridor we heard him laugh loudly, and he called out to me, —

“When I come to Bristol I will kill you.”

I had more than a mind to go back and stuff this threat into his throat, but I better knew my business, which was to recover the papers.

“Come,” said I, and we passed down stairs.

The people of the inn made way for Paddy as if he had been a falling tree, and at the same time they worshipped Jem Bottles for having performed everything. I had some wonder as to which would be able to out-strut the other. I think Jem Bottles won the match, for he had the advantage of being known as one of the most dangerous men in southwestern England, whereas Paddy had only his vanity to help him.

“’Tis all arranged,” said Bottles pompously. “Your devil will come forth as quiet as a rabbit.”

We ordered our horses, and a small crowd of obsequious stable-boys rushed to fetch them. I marvelled when I saw them lead out Paddy’s horse. I had thought from what I perceived over my shoulder when I left Bristol that he would never be able to make half a league in the saddle. Amid the flicker of lanterns, Bottles and I mounted and then I heard Paddy calling to him all the stable-boys:

“Now, when I give the word, you heave for your lives. Stand, you beast! Cannot four of you hold him by the legs? I will be giving the word in a moment. Are you all ready? Well, now, ready again — heave!”

There was a short scuffle in the darkness, and presently Paddy appeared above the heads of the others in the
mêlée
.

“There, now,” said he to them, “that was well done. One would easily be telling that I was an ex-trooper of the king.” He rode out to us complacently. “’Tis a good horse, if only he steered with a tiller instead of these straps,” he remarked, “and he goes well before the wind.”

“To Bristol,” said I. “Paddy, you must follow as best you may. I have no time to be watching you, although you are interesting.”

An unhappy cry came from behind Bottles, and I spurred on, but again I could not wait for my faithful countryman. My papers were still the stake for which I played. However I hoped that Paddy would now give over his ideas about catching little black men.

As we neared Bristol Jem Bottles once more became backward. He referred to the seven ballads, and feared that the unexpected presence of such a well-known character would create an excitement which would not be easy to cool. So we made a rendezvous under another tree, and I rode on alone. Thus I was separated from both my good companions. However, before parting, I took occasion to borrow five guineas from Jem’s store.

I was as weary as a dog, although I had never been told that gentlemen riding amid such adventures were ever aweary. At the inn in Bristol a sleepy boy took my horse, and a sleepy landlord aroused himself as he recognized me.

“My poor inn is at your disposal, sir,” he cried as he bowed. “The Earl has inquired for you to-day, or yesterday, as well as my young Lord Strepp and Colonel Royale.”

“Aye?” said I carelessly. “Did they so? Show me to a chamber. I am much enwearied. I would seek a good bed and a sound sleep, for I have ridden far and done much since last I had repose.”

“Yes, sir,” said the landlord deferentially.

After a long hard sleep I was aroused by a constant pounding on my door. At my cry a servant entered. He was very abject. “His lordship’s valet has been waiting to give you a message from his lordship, sir.” I bid him let the valet enter. The man whose heroic nose had borne the brunt of Forister’s swift departure from the inn when I kicked him came into my chamber with distinguished grace and dignity and informed me that his noble master cared to see me in his chamber when it would suit my convenience.

Of course the old Earl was after his papers. And what was I to tell him, — that I was all befooled and befuddled? — that after my father had kept these papers for so many years in faithful trust I had lost them on the very brink of deliverance of them to their rightful owner? What was I to speak?

I did not wish to see the Earl of Westport, but some sudden and curious courage forced me into my clothes and out to the corridor. The Earl’s valet was waiting there. “I pray you, sir, follow me,” he said. I followed him to an expensive part of the inn, where he knocked upon a door. It was opened by a bending serving-man. The room was a kind of parlour, and in it, to my surprise, were Lord Strepp and Colonel Royale. They gazed at me with a surprise equivalent to mine own.

Young Lord Strepp was the first one thoroughly to collect himself. Then he advanced upon me with outstretched hand.

“Mr. O’Ruddy,” he cried, “believe me, we are glad to see you. We thought you had gone for all time.”

Colonel Royale was only a moment behind his friend, but as he extended his hand his face flushed painfully.

“Sir,” he said somewhat formally, “not long ago I lost my temper, I fear. I know I have to thank you for great consideration and generosity. I — I — you—”

Whereupon we both began to stammer and grimace. All the time I was chocking out:

“Pray — pray — , don’t speak of it — a — nothing — in truth, you kindly exaggerate — I—”

It was young Lord Strepp who brought us out of our embarrassment. “Here, you two good fellows,” he cried heartily, “a glass of wine with you.”

We looked gratefully at him, and in the business of filling our glasses we lost our awkwardness. “To you,” said Lord Strepp; and as we drained our wine I knew that I had two more friends in England.

During the drinking the Earl’s valet had been hovering near my coat-tails. Afterward he took occasion to make gentle suggestion to me:

“His lordship awaits your presence in his chamber, sir, when it pleases you.”

The other gentlemen immediately deferred to my obligation, and I followed the valet into a large darkened chamber. It was some moments before my eyes could discover that the Earl was abed. Indeed, a rasping voice from beneath the canopies called to me before I knew that anybody was in the chamber but myself and the valet.

“Come hither, O’Ruddy,” called the Earl. “Tompkins, get out! Is it your duty to stand there mummified? Get out!”

The servant hastily withdrew, and I walked slowly to the great man’s bedside. Two shining shrewd eyes looked at me from a mass of pillows, and I had a knowledge of an aged face, half smiling and yet satirical, even malignant.

“And so this is the young fortune-hunter from Ireland,” he said in a hoarse sick-man’s voice. “The young fortune-hunter! Ha! With his worthless papers! Ha!”

“Worthless?” cried I, starting.

“Worthless!” cried the Earl vehemently. He tried to lift himself in his bed, in order to make more emphasis. “Worthless! Nothing but straw — straw — straw!” Then he cackled out a laugh.